


Doorstep Gifts

by Kitsune_Heart



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blanket Permission, F/M, First Meetings, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Podfic Welcome, isn't it cute when cats leave you a gift of MURDER?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:06:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsune_Heart/pseuds/Kitsune_Heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cats have a habit of presenting their owners with "gifts" of their kills. This had to have happened...at least once...with a certain olive-blooded troll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doorstep Gifts

The first time it occurred, you chalked it up to happenstance. A predator spooked from its prize by its prey wandering close to the hives of two high-blooded trolls. Aruthour had taken care of the remains, dragging them to the wilds for scavengers to pluck clean. You would not make use of the spoils, but you would not deny the local fauna their chance to partake and survive.

The second time you opened your front door and found a hulking beast on your stoop, you’d taken the—regrettable—effort of consulting with your neighbor on her latest...endeavors. But, apparently, she was currently leaving no beast unclaimed, though her own lusus wasn’t the beneficiary. She and some...sea dweller had come to an arrangement. She had assured you he would be glad to take the beast off your hands and, indeed, you were only home five minutes when you’d heard Miss Serket bickering with someone outside, interspersed with the sounds of inappropriate public displays of affection. You’d done your best to ignore the proceedings and, when you stepped out for an evening stroll, all that was left was a puddle of blood and a trail of droplets, leading towards the coastline.

The third time, you had realized, with a sudden shock, that you had acquired a most ingenious kismesis.

The idea simultaneously excited and repulsed you. Filling a concupiscent quadrant at your age was uncommon, though not unheard of, nor discouraged, as evidenced by Serket’s enthusiasm with her partner. However, while you did admire your suitor’s understanding of your nature, the idea that any troll would be so determined to gain your attentions that they would murder a glorious beast...it was...it was….

Kind of hot.

And utterly reprehensible.

Three kills. And no direct confrontation. At the very least, you’d have expected a note written in the beasts’ blood, but there was no hint of who was courting you. And, if the pattern was any indication, you would be expecting another assault on the local wildlife at any moment. This would have to be the last. Such murders could not proceed under your watch.

Aurthour did you the favor of preparing your meal early the next evening, allowing you to wake, break your fast, and station yourself on the balcony overlooking your front door before the sun had fully set. The light forced you to squint, and the diminishing cries of the undead were, admittedly, unsettling, but you endured until it was quiet and the first stars began to shine and cold started to seep into your skin.

Perhaps, in future, not the sleeveless shirt for stake-outs….

But you could not summon Aurthour or move, now, lest you alert your suitor to your presence, so you waiedt. For many hours. Alternately thinking of this unseen kismesis and, irritated, of the many projects you might have finished in the time spent on watch. You had little call for money, but the praise you received from even the Empress’s staff for your creations had been most enjoyable. Perhaps, one day, you would turn your skills to the actual military, but that was many, many sweeps off. First, of course, you must prove yourself to the Empire by properly filing your quadrants and filling….

You...rather thought you could use a towel.

You cursed your lack of foresight, and simply let the sweat be picked off by the wind.

You soon began to shiver, teeth trying to chatter, held back by sheer force of will, when you heard the first curse.

Expletives. Of course. Any proper kismesis to you would indulge in such...lewd language.

You could feel the excitement rise in your blood as your kismesis appeared around the path to your hive. Or...well, no, your kismesis did not appear. What appeared instead was an enormous antler-beast—a ten-point male, at the very least—draped over the back of some...fascinatingly strong troll. You would, of course, have no difficulty in carrying such a creature, but seeing it be accomplished by another not of your blood caste was...encouraging.

Perhaps the honorable thing to do would be to call out and face this kismesis, but you would give them the chance. The chance to reconsider their infatuation and leave with their prey. And, of course, the chance to exhaust themselves. You would allow them the opportunity of a fair fight in the future, of course, but, for now, confrontation and identification was more important.

They did not sway from their course. In a matter of two or three minutes, they struggled up your path, to your front door, and, with a grunt of supreme effort, raised the beast over their head, ready to deposit it on your entry mat.

You jumped from the balcony and wrenched the poor dead beast away, throwing it a good twenty feet down the path—you could do more, but perhaps best to hide your abilities to a degree—and proceed to pin the reprehensible troll against your door with one hand on their right shoulder, your other hand held back in a fist, at the ready for a blow.

“Who are you,” you growled, exposing your teeth, squaring your shoulders, standing tall and looking...rather...far down.

She was tiny and agape and absolutely covered in blood.

Your heart flipped. Oh...oh...my….

“I...I…” It was all she managed to squeak.

“Why do you _torment_ me!” You screamed, leaning in, teeth close to her face, prompting her to turn her head away.

“I w-wasn’t tormenting, I swear!” She shook under your hand and tried to make herself smaller, pulling her legs up her chest, but you would not let her sink down, and instead seized the back of her shirt, holding her in the air by the thin fabric. She didn’t protest, just curled in her arms, tucking them under her legs, becoming a little ball.

“You have slaughtered these creatures simply to upset me,” you said, shaking her, dragging out a yowl of protest. “Why?” No reply. “ _Why?_ ” Still no reply, and you shook her harder. “ _WHY!?_ ”

“I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT BE HUNGRY!” She screeched, curling up even tighter, trying to hide her face in her knees. “T-the drones never deliver meat to you, so I thought I could bring some, and I...I….”

“I requested they _not_ bring meat,” you growled, standing tall again and lifting her away from the door, so she dangled in the air before you, nothing nearby to grab onto but you and...oh...um...that is….

She dangled with her face three inches from yours, and she should have been quivering, apologizing, or at least _challenging_ you as a proper kismesis.

Instead, she peeked out from behind her hands, mouth twisted to expose just a single sharp tooth. “...what?” She asked, flatly.

You looked back at her. After a moment, you raised a brow and elaborated. “I do not eat meat,” you say. “So your effort to torture me with the senseless deaths of beautiful wild creatures is—”

“You didn’t eat them?” The girl asked, and she uncurled from her little ball, just dangling, limp-limbed, from your grip. “But...I worked so hard,” she whispered. “It was paws-itively torture to bring them all the way up here!”

You blinked. “I...well, I’m sorry that your efforts were….” You scowled. Why were you apologizing? “Will you _cease_ your...rampant _murder_!”

She tilted her head, studying you. “Well, if you’re not going to eat them, I guess...but what else am I going to bring you?”

You looked at her for a moment before sighing and letting your arm fall to the ground, allowing her to take her own weight. Her shirt had stretched where you held her, and you scowl. You should replace that. Perhaps get her something more...sturdy. And...dear Condescension, was she completely lacking in footwear? You needed to fix that, immediately, perhaps add on a coat, she looked so cold!. A good bath, some warm food, make sure none of that blood was her own, bandage her, if needed, and—

You shook your head. “You do not need to bring me anything,” you said. “You have successfully established yourself as an adequate kismesis.”

She...hissed. Her hair seemed to grow twice as voluminous and she backed away, raising one arm up, to guard her face, and she gaped at you. “I...I...NO!”

You stare. “...no?” You turned to look at the dead antler-beast, and then back to your new kismesis. “This seems hardly the time to play hard-to-get,” you said, then coughed, blue rising to your cheeks.

She shook her head. Hard. You wondered if she was going to cause some sort of internal damage. “N-no! I don’t...I don’t want….”

“I would not mark myself ready for the more...active parts of that role, myself,” you confessed. “I am content to wait until you are—”

“I’M TRYING TO CARE FUR YOU, YOU PURR-FECT FOOL!” She screamed, then slaped her hands over her face.

It took you quite some time to understand what she had said. And you really only got a little bit of it, so you responded with an indignant, “I am no foal! I’ll have you know that the Empress’s own staff makes use of my—”

Behind her hands, the girl sputtered. “Prrrrrrrt!”

Duly derailed, you crossed your arms and glared at her. “What?”

“Did...you just make...a hoof-beast pun?”

You felt the blue spreading to your ears and down the back of your neck. “N...no, don’t be filly. Silly!”

The girl giggled, lowering her hands.

“Stop that!” When she just laughed harder, you snapped, “Reign yourself in!”

She falls to the ground...rolling...and laughing at you.

...this was the point where you should have...probably...kicked her, or something. Kick her while she’s down? Like a proper blackrom match?

But you just looked down and felt your lips twitching.

“Y-y-you look furrious!” She keened, holding her stomach. “I can’t tail whether to be scared or kitten!”

You blinked. “Kitten?”

She was getting a hold of herself, sitting up, resting with her legs folded beneath her, hands on the ground before her. She looked up at you for a moment, then down at her hands, which scraped at the ground. “Er...smitten.”

You did not respond to that, but you did rather...hope it would be the latter.

But there was still a rotting corpse behind you, and that was really a thing that should be addressed. “Why do you keep leaving dead animals on my door, Miss….” You waited for her to fill in the blank.

She failed to do so, shrugging, looking past you at her kill. “Like I said, I saw you weren’t getting meat, and...I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She reached up, grabbing the sleeve of her shirt and trying to pull it lower on her arms, oh dear, she was cold, you could see the honk-beast-pimples on her skin. “I thought...it would be good if someone looked after you.” She swallowed and just barely lifted her head, straining her eyes to look up through her bangs, into your face. “Make sure...you’re okay.”

Your face flushed. An absolutely ludicrous term, seeing as what it should have done...is pale.

She was small and cold and covered in blood and she killed...a lot of animals.

That was something you should work to fix. But...purr-haps...not right then.

“It is getting cold,” you said, offering your hand to the girl. “The heating in my hive is very good. I could...prepare you a meal.” And new clothes and a guest recuperacoon and her own workspace and...and everything. “Would you...like to...um...chat, Miss…?”

This time, she did seem to realize what you’re doing, and smiled, reaching out and placing her hand in yours. “Leijon. Nepeta Leijon. And...that would be great.” She looked down her front, where the symbol that would identify her had been covered in the viscera of her kill. “Er...and can I use your laundering machine?”

You would _burn_ those clothes, you swear, but you just smile and nod. “Certainly.” Hearing a clip-clopping overhead, and you looked up to see Aurthour peering over the railing at you with his customary patient face. “Aurthour. Would you please prepare a warm bath for Miss Leijon?”

The girl before you let out a mighty hiss, leaning back, and you just barely tightened your grip to keep her from fleeing.

“And a glass of milk,” you said, finishing your thought.

Nepeta ceased her struggles, and you looked down at her. “Miss Leijon?”

She looked up at you with the most heart-breaking, big eyes, and she trilled softly, “We are going to best furrrrr-ends furrr-ever.”

You swallowed down your nerves and gave her a smile. “If...you would like to come in…?” You wave a hand at the door. “It is unloaaaaaaah!”

She hauled you behind her as she wrenched the door open and pounded up the entry stairs into your hive. Everything turns to a blur about you, but you had just enough time to catch Aurthour’s impassive face as he looked down at a little trail of bloody footprints left by your….

You smile.

Your moirail.


End file.
